A most advantageous proposal
by euromellows
Summary: Prince Duran Aeducan, Warden Commander and one time heir to Orzammar, proposes a dynastic marriage to Queen Anora to keep the peace. The proposal is so shocking and unprecedented it might just work. A look at the possible effects. AU
1. The Confirmation

It was never presented as an option, but what if Dwarf Noble Prince Duran Aeducan went on to marry Anora and become a Prince of Ferelden. An AU on what might have been.

Bioware owns Dragon Age: Origins.

...

**Prologue Part I – The Confirmation**

Duran Aeducan lightly scratched his beard, dabbing his fingers gently across his cheeks in a smooth fashion.

He would be unlikely to admit it, but he was a little nervous. In truth he wasn't entirely sure that his plan would work, or that it was for the best. A part of him knew it was - the alternative was abhorrent to his friend and not likely to be in the interests of stability. On the other hand he was aware that a part of him knew his plan was based partially on pride and even, he admitted to himself, a little greed.

His companion noticed his discomfort and interrupted his thoughts.

'Are you sure about this? Don't won't to back out or anything? It isn't too late you know, to go back out there with our fingers in our ears and pretend none of this ever happened.'

Duran smiled in response, shaking his head politely as though to dismiss the notion entirely.

His companion, Alistair, had a way of always making light of the situation. But he wasn't always joking. There were times he was serious and sober. However that was more often the exception than the rule. In those cases where he wasn't joking, they were always of a serious nature that a cheerful mood wouldn't be appropriate in any event.

'No. This is the only way if you don't want to be King.'

Alistair laughed and waved his hands almost frantically before him, 'Ooohhh no. I don't think I would ever want that. Dealing with all those problems and having people suck up to me all day. No thanks. Besides, something tells me being raised in a stable by giant slobbering dogs isn't the best way to prepare you for being a king.'

Duran only nodded in response, his eyes focusing on the stone floor.

It was true enough he mused. Not the giant dogs of course, but the lack of a formal education that Alistair referred to. Alistair had never been prepared to be King, he had never even received an education that would be sufficient for court. Even if he wanted it, he would be attacked from all sides by those more experienced in the game. Politics was particularly brutal and a new young King would find himself with many new friends seeking favours. The trouble is none of them would be true friends, and none of the favours would be endearing. The moment he stumbled, the moment he made a single mistake they would pounce and tear him asunder mercilessly. They would strip whatever they could from him, and only pause to check and make certain there was nothing else to take.

It simply wouldn't do. Whatever Arl Eamon might say Alistair wasn't ready. He hadn't the necessary skills or temperament. It would be a disaster. Alistair was not ready. Not like himself.

Duran had spent all his life being prepared for command. From the moment he was born he was destined for leadership. He was skilled in the art of diplomacy and intrigue. A fine negotiator at court, and a superb warrior in the provings. He had earned his place as his father's favourite and, in all likelihood, would become the heir apparent. His only one mistake was to have underestimated his youngest brother. But it was a big mistake, and it had very nearly ruined him.

He carried the grace of the Ancestors, of that he was in no doubt. He had been given a second chance and risen to become Warden Commander in Ferelden. He had even managed to restore his honour in Orzammar, and was once more a Prince of that realm. Though he had earlier been betrayed by his brother, he ultimately chose him to become King of Orzammar. It was nothing personal. Harrowmont was an honourable and decent man. But he could never support anyone other than an Aeducan, and thus on family grounds he made his choice.

Bhelen was grateful. He had pledged his army to Duran to fight the blight, restored his rights as a Prince and even adopted Duran's son into his household. Duran's honour had been restored - but he would never be King. Bhelen's scheming had confirmed that. He had reconciled himself to that. That is, until another opportunity presented itself.

While all of the above was true, none of it would be an insurmountable impediment if Alistair truly wanted to be King. If he pressed his claim, if he announced his lineage publicly, then he would have the considerable support of Arl Eamon and even Queen Anora should he pursue a royal marriage. But he did not. He did not want it at all, and was in fact so adamantly against the proposal it bordered on the irrational. The very idea terrified him, and thus it was that Duran proposed his own scheme.

The proposal was straight forward. He would offer marriage to Anora and thus cement an alliance. A royal prince of Orzammar, the Commander of the Grey, and a valiant warrior in his own right would add his own prestige to the monarchy and ensure stability in these uncertain times. Unfortunately it was not straight forward as was hoped.

Arl Eamon had dismissed the idea. Although he acknowledged Duran's noble heritage and his admirable personal qualities, the idea of a Dwarven King was too foreign to countenance. It had never been done before he said. Duran didn't have the connections, nor did he have any blood lineage within Ferelden itself. Most of the nobility claimed descendance from Hafter, the first Ferelden Teyrn, a trait most decidely lacking in Duran. Eamon did not think it would work, Alistair's reluctance not withstanding, he was certain that Alistair could be prevailed upon to do his duty when the time came.

Anora was more diplomatic and, to her credit, did not dismiss the idea out of hand. Though she was still skeptical. She thought there would be resistance within the Landsmeet. Duran had no connection with the realm, he had no relatives to call upon for support, no blood relation with the bannorn and consequently no legitimacy. To top it off he did not worship the Maker and the people would not follow someone of an alien faith. She indicated that Alistair or herself as sole ruler were the better options. She had to know the sole ruler option was not under consideration for she intimated straight after that if a way could be found she would be receptive.

Duran smiled. He had indeed found a way.

Alistair interrupted his thoughts, 'Still though. This must be hard for you. Turning your back on your ancestors and embracing a new god. I want you to know that I'm very grateful.'

'I know.'

The two men considered each other in silence for a time. Alistair, with great reluctance, had consented to his friend making this sacrifice. Although in truth it wasn't much of a sacrifice. It suited Duran's ambitions perfectly and it was stroke of good fortune indeed that Alistair was consenting. Besides, it wasn't as if Duran was a complete skeptic. He had, after all, witnessed the ashes of Andraste cure Arl Eamon of his terrible sickness. Perhaps there was a little truth in all this chantry nonsense.

Leliana, standing not further than five paces away, approached with great care and tact. She had assumed her chantry robes and presented the picture of a devout sister who had never known anything else in the world but the chantry.

'We are ready for you now Alistair,' She said in her pleasant Orlesian accent.

Alistair smiled and nodded to Duran. 'Well I better not keep the Revered Mother waiting. You know how it is with these older chantry types.'

He hesitated for a moment before clasping Duran firmly on the shoulder. 'Thank you for this.'

Duran didn't say anything, he didn't need to, it had all been said before.

Alistair departed, smiling lightly to Leliana as he walked past her into the cathedral.

Leliana smiled back at him before returning her gaze to Duran. She gave him a smile of her own before she continued, 'He really is very grateful. You are doing a very kind thing, and I know the Maker will smile down upon you.'

Duran smiled but offered no response.

Privately he was conflicted with his emotions. Although he didn't necessarily think what he was doing amounted to turning his back on his own culture, on some level he knew things would never be the same. Perhaps he could walk the tight rope that was the middle ground. But he didn't really believe it. What he was doing was likely to be final.

Leliana sensed his hesitation for she gently grabbed him by the shoulders and soothingly reassured him, 'If you approach the altar with an open heart and allow Andraste to fill your spirit the Maker will smile down upon you and embrace you closely. For all of creation is enveloped by the Maker, and his love is boundless and limitless.'

'Thank you' He replied earnestly.

She smiled and released her grip. 'Shall we go? It would not do well to keep Her Grace waiting.'

'Lead the way.'

Duran followed closely behind her and allowed himself to be lead to the Altar. Alistair was already there, positioned to the left of the dais. Leliana took her place on the right. The path was laid before him and he took his position before the Revered Mother.

She was an older woman, wise in appearance and stern in her posture. She held a large silver chalice in both hands and rubbed it absently with her fingers.

Behind her were two sisters and a brother. The brother was chanting in prayerful hymn, his eyes staring ahead of Duran and focusing intently on what lay beyond him. One of the sisters held tightly to a ball of incense, swaying it gently from side to side in rhythm with the chants. The other sister was openly praying to the Maker, her hands clasped tightly together while she sought his blessing for what was to come.

The Revered Mother approached Duran and spoke loudly to him. 'Do you come to seek the spiritual guidance of the Maker?'

'Yes your Grace.' Duran replied.

'Do you seek to cast off your sinful ways and follow Andraste's teachings?'

'Yes your Grace.'

'Then kneel before the Maker's glory and prepare to receive his blessings.'

Duran knelt.

'The Maker is wise, and grants free will to all his creation. He does this so that they may choose, with an open heart, to love and worship his name. So that one earnest man of faith be worth far more than a thousand unbelieving souls.'

She raised her voice, peering at the ceiling high above her. 'Man has not always been wise in their choices. They are proud and sinful creatures in heart, body and soul. The Maker knew this, but he also knew there was goodness within all creation. And thus he sent his bride the glorious Andraste to live amongst the people and provide a path to him.'

'The man before us today desires to follow that path. Is there someone here who can attest to his faith?'

Leliana answered, 'I do your Grace.'

'Does this man acknowledge the sinful and flawed nature of his existence?'

'Yes your Grace, praise be to the maker.'

'Does this man pledge to follow the teachings of Andraste?'

'Yes your Grace, praise be to the maker.'

'Does this man acknowledge the falsehoods of all other gods, embrace the one true god the Maker, as represented by his holy Chantry?'

'Yes your Grace, praise be to the maker.'

'And can anyone else vouch for this man's earnestness?'

Alistair spoke at this point, reciting the lines he had already heard. 'Yes your Grace. So I bear witness to Andraste.'

'So it be said.'

Directing her attention fully to Duran she continued, 'And do you, Duran Aeducan, embrace the teachings of Andraste as represented by the hold chantry?'

'So I do, praise be to the Maker.'

'And do you swear to forsake all other gods as both false and untrue, and acknowledge the maker as the one true god and to honour his bride Andraste?'

'So I do, praise be to the Maker.'

She raised the chalice high above his head, holding it firmly in place. 'Let it be known that Duran Aeducan, son of Endrin Aeducan and Prince of Orzammar, has sworn this solemn oath before the Maker's chantry. That he be held to his word, and entreated to heed his commitment. Let those here who are present bear witness to this declaration, that they may guide him in his path to Andraste.'

She poured the contents of the chalice on to his head. The water streamed through his hair and ran down his beard. It was warm. For some reason that surprised Duran, he had expected it to be as cold as ice – as if it would sense his doubt.

'Let the grace of Andraste wash over you and cleanse your spirit.'

When the chalice was emptied she turned to the altar and replaced it with a smaller gold cup. Approaching Duran she continued, 'Rise Duran Aeducan, and embrace the maker with this cup, the blood of Andraste, shed for your soul.'

Duran unhesitatingly took the chalice and drank.

'May the maker watch over you my child.'

He returned the chalice to her and replied simply, 'Praise be to the maker.'

It was done. There was no going back now. For better or worse he was now an Andrastan and an adherent of the chantry. Although significant in and of itself, it would still not be enough. Now it would be Alistair's turn to fulfill his part of the plan. For he had a Kingdom to win, and he would not be denied what fate had taken from him once before.


	2. The Landsmeet

Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age.

The Landsmeet

Duran watched the confrontation with great interest. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration as he watched the two opposing figures.

The Landsmeet had been called, and not a moment too soon. The Darkspawn were pillaging throughout the countryside and laying to waste whatever they found in their wake. The bravest in the land, for who else could combat such a threat, were nowhere to be found. They had already died. It may have been at Ostagar, Lothering, Honnleath or any of the other countless villages lost to the blight. Those with true courage had sought not to politicise the crisis but bravely face it head on. And that was the reason they were probably already dead. The rest of the country, those with any influence at least, had gathered at the Landsmeet.

Duran had done well. He had organised the numbers with an intellect that betrayed his vast political mind. Many of the gathered Banns owed some kind of a favour to him. Whether it was Bann Vaughan for rescuing him from captivity, Bann Sighard for saving his son from further torture, or even Bann Alfstanna for locating her templar brother. They were all grateful to him and to that end had pledged their support during the proceedings.

Duran had eloquently presented his case. He had challenged Loghain on his knowledge of the slave trade in the alienage, questioned his employ of an apostate blood mage, and of course raised the matter of his conduct at Ostagar.

Loghain had tried valiantly to defend himself. He appealed to his hero status, not wholly insignificant, and to his abilities as a General. But it was not enough. The cards were already stacked against him, and when his own daughter the Queen spoke of his treason his defeat was all but assured.

He had not capitulated willingly though. He howled with rage at the Banns, denounced their cowardice and their willingness to serve the Orlesians. He would not so easily surrender his country to men of lesser value.

Duran had to respect that. Although Loghain had acted dishonorably at Ostagar, Duran was aware of his solid reputation as a brave warrior, and he was glad to see he lived up to the legend in his defiance. In truth, Duran would have been deeply disappointed if Loghain had turned out to be like many of the other 'heros' he had met. Noble only in reputation but decidely lacking in substance.

It was a great pity that his skills couldn't be used. They were sorely needed and would prove to be most useful to Duran. But it could not be. Loghain's actions at Ostagar cemented his fate, and for that he would have to pay the price.

There was nothing else to be done. Duran had made his deal with Alistair, and so, when Loghain had challenged him to combat after losing the landsmeet vote it was Alistair that took his place as champion. It was only fair. After all, it was Alistair that had lost the most at Ostagar. Not only had he lost his mentor Duncan and the other Grey Wardens, but he had also lost his half brother King Cailan. If anyone truly deserved justice it was him.

But there were other more important considerations at play. This was all part of Duran's plan. He had promised Alistair that vengeance should be his, that it would be him and not Duran who would face Loghain in combat.

And so it came to be. Duran watched the two men draw their swords and circle one another. Dueling amongst humans was an oddity to observe. They made such pronouncements and drama before they attacked. The tradition was evidently a young one, unlike that of the Dwarves who had a very prescribed and ancient method of combat.

They were evenly matched, at least at first. The young and eager warrior was offset by the wise and experienced swordsmen. Alistair was attacking too much - far too aggressive. Loghain blocked most of his attacks, using his shield far too often to suit Duran.

It was not an elegant contest. Both men were flustered, their rage knowing no bounds. Alistair held the betrayal and treachery of Ostagar in his heart, intent on exacting revenge upon the man responsible. Loghain held the agent of his fall from power within his grasp. He was aware of Alistair's blood line, but more than that he knew he was a Grey Warden. And that simply meant he was a pawn of the Orlesians, just like Cailan in the end.

The two warriors exchanged blows. Alistair hammered his sword into Loghain's shield with all his might. Loghain stumbled back momentarily, his arm shaking with tension and his face breaking into a sweat, but he was safe. His shield had absorbed the impact and prevented any serious damage.

Alistair used the momentary lapse to follow through with a swinging motion towards the head. But he had overreached, for Loghain easily parried it with his free sword hand and was able to recover the initiative. He countered with a mighty bash from his shield, smashing it firmly into Alistair's facing shoulder and sending him falling to the ground.

Duran continued to observe the contest. Loghain was a master of counter attacks, it was where his legendary skill had come into display. But Alistair's raw power was formidable on its own merits and consequently Loghain was unable to fully capitalise on his retaliatory strikes.

Loghain approached the grounded Alistair and struck his sword with all his might. Alistair moved just in time to avoid it, but he was struggling to free himself from the danger. He was quick for a warrior, but the ground is the last place any fighter wants to be, and for as long as he remained there he was vulnerable.

Duran suppressed a frown. The plan was for Alistair to defeat Loghain. In an ideal world this would come to pass, the victorious Alistair would be grateful and as previously decided would renounce his claims to the throne. In any event Anora surely would not have her father's killer as husband, and Arl Eamon would not permit Loghain's daughter to reign unchecked. No, in such a scenario Duran would be the only satisfactory option to all parties. And of course he would be only too happy to oblige, in the interests of stability of course.

But what if Alistair failed? What if the plan came unstuck and Loghain should kill him. Well he had a plan for that too. Loghain's life as he knew it was over, he could not be permitted to remain in his position. But what if he were to become a Grey Warden? His formidable skills would prove very useful to the order. Arl Eamon could have no objection as he would lose his titles and be firmly under the control of Duran. Anora too would be pleased her father was shown a considerable mercy and in gratitude would accept Duran's offer for marriage, for once more Eamon would not permit Anora to rule unchecked. Either outcome had assured Duran of a most advantageous position. If his brother Bhelen had taught him anything, it was to always have a backup plan.

But in this case the extensive planning was unnecessary. Alistair freed himself from the floor with a powerful kick directed at Loghain's knees. Loghain, as had already been observed, was unable to fully absorb the force of Alistair's blows. He stumbled backwards in pain and though it was only for a moment, Alistair used the opportunity to right himself.

Having regained his composure Alistair lashed out with a renewed fury. It was as though his close brush with death had reiterated the very serious nature of his struggle and compelled him to act with more forceful strength.

The revitalisation proved decisive. For every sword stroke parried, for every thrust blocked, there was at least equal measure given to those blows received. Loghain vainly retreated back from the onslaught, his attempts to fend off the attacks seemed almost half hearted or disinterested in comparison. He was struggling and it was apparent it wouldn't be long now.

Whether it was a last desperate act to be remembered as a soldier first and foremost, or whether it was a genuine attempt to gain the upper hand was immaterial. Loghain broke from his defence and suddenly lunged at Alistair with such ferocity it caused the attacks to cease. Loghain was no longer on the defensive, no longer the brunt of all attacks, but instead he had inflicted a severe wound on Alistair's side. This was the game changer Loghain had needed, he had regained the initiative. It very nearly succeeded, but it could not last. He had left himself horribly exposed and when Alistair regained his composure he saw the opening, for he could hardly have missed it, and he plunged his sword straight through Loghain's breastplate - fatally wounding him.

Loghain didn't die immediately, although Duran was sure the wound would finish him in time. But Alistair would not be satisfied with a capitulation. Nor was a slow and agonising death part of his nature. Other men would have permitted such an end to their enemies, some would have perhaps even enjoyed it. But Alistair was not such a man. He was good hearted, and justice to him meant swift and unhesitating delivery. And so it was, with his heart and mind firmly fixed, that he struck Loghain with the killing blow that silenced him forever.

Anora reacted instantly. In a moment of weakness she forgot her place and knelt beside her father crying aloud, 'Father!' She was careful to conceal her tears, although Duran was certain she shed them. It was a sad scene, and Duran felt not a small portion of sorrow for her loss.

Alistair wiped his sword clean and turned to Duran. His face was grim, betraying no emotion other than that of fulfilling his duty. 'It is done. Duncan and the Wardens are avanged...' He paused for a moment before adding, '...and Cailan.'

Arl Eamon approached cautiously, having observed the proceedings, he too appeared not to take delight in Anora's suffering.

'So it is decided. Alistair you must take your place as King. Even now the darkspawn are gathering across the land and threaten Redcliffe itself.'

He turned to regard Eamon carefully before replying in the most serious of tones, 'No Eamon. I don't want to be King. I never have.'

Eamon's tone betrayed his expectation of such a scenario, though in truth Alistair's serious demeanour had somewhat weakened his resolve. 'But it is in your blood Alistair! Ferelden needs you now more than ever!'

'I never wanted this Eamon. I still don't. I don't know the first thing about ruling a Kingdom.'

Anora rose up from her place, by now having regained both her composure and her grace. She faced Eamon directly, though her words seemed to be addressed to the entire landsmeet and perhaps even Duran in particular.

'You see what Alistair says. He shirks his duty in our countries greatest hour of need. He is not fit to be King, nor does he want it by his own admission.'

Eamon tried to plead with him, a hint of desperation etching into his voice as he sensed he was rapidly losing control of events. 'But Alistair there will be others to guide you in your decisions. You will not be in want of wise counsel and good advice. Perhaps even if you were to marry Anora you could rule jointly as King and Queen.'

Anora interrupted this notion immediately. 'If you think I will marry the man who murdered my father you are mistaken Arl Eamon. I will not marry Alistair and he does not want to be King. I can only propose that I continue as Queen, to provide the leadership Ferelden needs in these difficult times.'

Duran suppressed a smile. It was all going perfectly to plan. It was almost time for him to strike, but not yet.

Eamon shook his head furiously to Anora's proposal. 'You cannot be serious if you think the Landsmeet would support you as Queen. Although you spoke against your father at the end, we cannot know how much a part you played in his machinations or that of Arl Howe. We cannot know if you authorised and supported the selling of Elvish slaves to Tevinter or even if you knew about Loghain's plans to kill Cailan!'

'How dare you!' Shouted Anora. The indignation in her voice was real and unrehearsed. 'I loved my husband and I would never have sanctioned his death. The entire prospect is revolting.'

It was possible Arl Eamon regretted his words, for he showed considerable restraint in his reply. 'Nevertheless your Highness serious questions remain about your role in this affair, and I'm afraid the landsmeet could never agree to you simply remaining on the throne unaccompanied.'

He paused before continuing. 'In any event Anora I hardly think you are the appropriate mediator in this.' He turned to Duran, 'Warden, will you help us?'

'Yes I can settle this.' Replied Duran with almost no hesitation.

'As the arbiter of this dispute what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?'

There was a momentary pause in his reply. It had come to a stalemate. It appeared there was no way forward, no resolution that would be acceptable to either party.

It was in such an environment that Duran ventured forth his proposal, having nurtured and advanced the idea in his mind for some time.

Although he spoke directly to Arl Eamon and Anora, his words were loud enough for the chamber. He intended it that way, for he aimed to win the crowd over with his words.

'Your Highness Queen Anora, Your Grace Arl Eamon, allow me to propose a compromise I believe you will find most amiable. Although I am not of Ferelden, you know that I carry within my veins some of the noblest of blood throughout the Thedas. As a Prince of Orzammar I am accustomed to the dealings of leadership and the difficulties in making tough decisions. My people have long been at war with the darkspawn and I have personally led many successful expeditions against their kind, always pushing them back to protect my people. In all that time we have ever been a friend to Ferelden, shielding your fair lands from the excesses of the darkspawn and keeping your people safe.'

He turned to address the landsmeet, for by now he had their complete attention. 'Yet despite those happier times the blight has stretched across your country and threatened its very existence. Your kingdom suffers such a tragedy of epic proportions that I find myself amazed you have been distracted with petty politics and infighting. You have allowed yourselves to be distracted and forgotten that the real enemy is the blight. And yet I am hardly surprised, for you are ill prepared for the horrors of the Archdemon and the terrible truth of a blight.'

'But when I look around me I see a brave and proud people. You are not a nation of cowards or deserters. Ferelden holds an honored place amongst the halls of Orzammar and I say that you are still the same people who defeated the Orlesians and united under Calenhad all those years ago. You cannot lose hope especially in these dark times.'

Duran paused momentarily and directed his gaze forcefully to Arl Eamon. 'Arl Eamon you ask me what is my decision and to me the solution seems quite simple. You are in need of stability and of leadership. And I have the means to ensure you have both. I propose that Queen Anora shall rule Ferelden, with me by her side as her husband.'

The gasps went out around the landsmeet. There was quite clearly a level of shock that Duran had anticipated but perhaps underestimated a little. Although he was sure his speech had sufficiently inspired them, the idea of a Dwarf reigning as King was still a strange concept.

'Warden,' Began Eamon, the hesitation in his voice quite clear. 'I'm afraid that is impossible. Although you are of noble blood and possess admirable qualities desirable for a King, you do not worship the maker and Ferelden could never follow a heathen King.'

Duran smiled and acknowledged the point, for he had already accounted for this and was prepared. 'I have seen many miracles in my journey, all of which have convinced me of the Maker's existence and that of his bride Andraste. Last night I paid a visit to Her Holiness the Revered Mother and asked her to preside over my confirmation as an Andrastan. I was anointed with the holy waters of the Chantry and embraced the communion of Andraste with all my heart.'

The Revered Mother, who had been observing and watching from the balcony, interrupted to confirm his statement. 'It is true my lords and ladies. Prince Aeducan was accepted into the Chantry with open arms. He has provided the Chantry with some relics dating back to the days of the prophetess herself and it is my ardent belief his conversion is genuine. So Andraste herself be my witness.'

Duran continued after the interruption, capitalising on the praise thus foistered on him by the Revered Mother. 'Not withstanding my fervent belief in the Maker, I believe my proposal to be most advantageous for Ferelden. I will pledge to secure an alliance with Orzammar beyond the blight which will ensure the security and prosperity of Ferelden for all time. No longer need you fear your western borders from Orlais, or your reliance on trade with the unstable Free Marches. Orzammar will come to your aid in times of hardship and in times of prosperity, as a friend and as an ally. I swear this on my honor.'

There were murmurings of support. Some whispered the Dwarves would be useful allies indeed, others that strange times called for strange solutions. No doubt there were still those who disagreed, but they were decidely in the minority. It seemed Duran carried the crowd with his sentiments.

This could hardly have been lost on Arl Eamon for he hesitated. It was hard to know what exactly his objection was. The loss of influence in losing Alistair as a King, or was it that he doubted the qualities of Duran? Perhaps it was something more vulgar. Maybe he just didn't like Dwarves. It didn't matter in the end. The crowd seemed to be won over and his objections could hardly matter anymore, but he tried once more to appeal to Alistair.

'Alistair, you must understand that the Theirin blood runs through your veins and that as the son of Maric it is your duty to take the throne.'

He shook his head firmly once again. 'No Eamon. It's just not for me. Duran is the finest man I have ever known, he will make a great King.'

Anora, perhaps sensing she had been thrown a lifeline, picked up on the sentiment and addressed the landsmeet as though the decision was already made and accepted. 'My husband, King Consort, the General of my armies and the hero who will save Ferelden from this blight.'

She came forward, no longer simply talking to Duran or Eamon but addressing the landsmeet at large. 'My first act as Queen must be to insist on receiving Alistair's oath before all the landsmeet to relinquish all claim to the throne for himself and his heirs.'

Alistair seemed surprised by her swiftness, for his response was at first uncertain. 'Oh. I never wanted it. I mean yes, of course. Happily in fact!'

Anora accepted his declaration. There was no need for her to be vindictive. It was done and the matter never be raised again.

'And now lords and ladies of Ferelden, there is still a blight to defeat and armies to gather. I appoint this man, Duran Aeducan, to lead us in both. We will not allow this land to be further threatened by the Archdemon. Gather your forces and await the King Consort's command. On the morrow we shall begin our struggle against the greatest threat Ferelden has ever faced. And we shall triumph over it for we are Ferelden!'

The landsmeet cheered and rejoiced in her announcement. Truly there was such hope and acclaim for the future that even Arl Eamon seemed content that, although his candidate of choice did not ascend, his country had forged a path forward through the crisis.

But none present could have been as pleased as Duran. His scheming and careful planning had paid off. Fate had denied him Orzammar, but it had now delivered him Ferelden. His proposal had been embraced by the nobles, and his victory seemed assured. He only now had to dispose of the Archdemon and defeat the blight to secure his triumph. Now that his own future was secure he smiled. For the first time since Ostagar he was truly confident they would prevail.


	3. After the landsmeet

Disclaimer: Bioware owns DragonAge

After the Landsmeet

Anora carefully walked through the palace corridors. The palace was mostly empty by now save for a few guards and servants. She herself had already dismissed Erlina for the evening, for she resolved to speak to her betrothed privately before the night was out.

She was a little embarrassed about the landsmeet. She had temporarily lost control when her father was struck down and she regretted the momentary weakness. Although she had prepared for such an outcome, the shock of actually seeing it had been too much. She had recovered her wits quickly enough, but the entire landsmeet had seen her collapse at her father's side and she would make certain it would not happen again.

Denouncing her father was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. Although she knew it was necessary to win the warden's support, she would never forget the pained look on her father's face. She had loved her father - still loved him, but perhaps more important than that she had respected him. She wasn't sure what felt worse - having denounced him publicly, or coming to the realisation that she needed to.

But no matter his actions as Regent he was always a good father. He had, after all, taught her his most important lesson. That is, it was of paramount necessity to adapt to circumstances and be flexible. And she had listened well.

She was pleased to have kept her position as Queen, given the circumstances. Others of a less capable disposition would have found themselves put to death along with Howe and her father, or at the very least clapped in irons. It's what she would have done in their place.

But instead she had adapted and survived. She was still surprised at the particulars of the outcome. She recalled with amusement Duran's original proposal of marriage and how she had doubted its feasibility. She was glad she had kept her options open, for it was apparent he was a man of ability and had succeeded in his ambition.

She still couldn't believe it entirely. Of the countless favorable matches she could make it would eventuate she was to marry a dwarf of all people! Father had always held the dwarves in high regard but she was sure even he would have been surprised at the outcome.

There were many compelling reasons why the proposal was advantageous, not least of which was that she retained the throne. But it was still hard to believe. Yes he was of royal blood, and yes he was clearly a most capable commander. But he was still a dwarf!

She paused for a moment in her walk. She admired the splendour and trappings of the palace before continuing. To think that she nearly lost the lot! She had no doubt that Ferelden needed her and if the only way to keep it was to marry the dwarf then so be it.

She mused on how he had manipulated the landsmeet so skillfully to his plan. He must have known his compromise was the only rational solution in light of Alistair's refusal and Eamon's veto. She wouldn't be surprised if he had orchestrated the entire thing, even perhaps as far as pressing Alistair to not take the throne. No. Perhaps she needn't be so harsh. Alistair's objections seemed heartfelt and genuine. And even if they weren't he was a hardly a man worthy of such a title if he gave up his claim so easily. No, it was far more likely that Duran noticed this reluctance already present and merely profited from the circumstances. He adapted and survived, much like herself.

She smiled. She had no doubt that he had manipulated her as well in his dealings. She had to admire that. He had demonstrated a formidable political mind and that could prove useful in time. But she herself was also in possession of such talent, and she was not to be trifled with.

She was the Queen of Ferelden and the legal ruler of the land. It was not merely a formality to be ignored and bypassed. If he dared to assume the mantle himself or interfere and question her authority he would find himself quite mistaken in his assumptions. The marriage was one of convenience, a political alliance and nothing more. She would hold the power and he would take his place at her side. There was nothing more to it.

Although she had considered the political implications of the arrangement in depth, she did not wholly neglect the personal aspects too. She was still not entirely sure how she felt on that front.

Her betrothed was a handsome man for a dwarf, his beard neatly fashioned and not unsightly like many of his kindred. His manners were impeccable and clearly he had benefitted from an education preparing him for the necessary social graces of court. Although she still found the notion of marrying a dwarf strange she thought that given it was happening, Duran would perhaps be the best such specimen of dwarf as could be found.

There were other qualities that she found to her liking. His reputation as a warrior was well known. It was said he had battled through legions of undead in Redcliffe to free Arl Eamon from danger. One rumor even suggested he had slain a high dragon. However, as with many legends concerning her own father, that particular report was likely to be an exaggeration at best.

Perhaps most useful to her would be his abilities as a military commander and leader of men. Her former husband Cailan was not the wisest of men. Father had always admonished him for his fanciful notions of strategy and battle tactics. But no such charge could be levelled at her betrothed. Against the odds he had already united Ferelden to face the blight and though the threat were not yet over his leadership calmed many minds. Furthermore his extensive campaign experience in Orzammar was well known and already Ser Cauthrien had told her his tactical knowledge was quite formidable. A strong, capable and, most importantly, a respected husband would be quite useful. So long as he knew his place she would let him have free reign of the army. There was little risk involved. Her people loved her and no matter how grateful they might be to him, they would never supplant her in order to appoint a dwarf.

Anora stopped her approach and halted in front of the large wooden door preventing her admittance. She had asked him to await her with his companions after the landsmeet in the private audience chambers. She had not left him waiting too long she hoped, but it was really quite unavoidable after all the arrangements to organise following the landsmeet.

She paused momentarily before resting her hands on the door. After conducting a last minute check on her appearance and assuring herself her composure was fully recovered she entered the room.

Duran was there, seated with his companions at one of the tables. They were talking and laughing amongst themselves. He noticed her immediately and sprung up with an eagerness that betrayed his impatience.

Anora approached him only so far before she awaited some twenty paces from his companions. It was a large room and she was sure her meaning was clear when he joined her shortly thereafter to converse in private.

'So it is done. My father is dead. I never thought he would go so far. I never thought it would end like it did.' She added almost absently, 'Such a waste.'

Anora had not intended to talk about her father but she found herself quite unable to prevent it. Perhaps it was still the raw emotion in her, or maybe it was an attempt to connect socially with her betrothed. She couldn't account for it and that displeased her. She never liked anything she couldn't explain.

Duran's concern was apparent in his voice, laced as it was with sympathy and perhaps even a little regret. 'I'm sorry. I wish it could have been otherwise.'

'It could have been' Came the instant reply. Anora felt that had been too harsh, so she continued in a lighter tone. 'But what is done is done. My father had no illusions about the consequences of his actions and neither do I.'

She broke off momentarily, sighing to shake off the subject and the morbid feeling it aroused. 'But enough on that. You kept your end of the deal and I will keep mine. The engagement will be announced at my coronation. Provided you are still interested?'

Duran smiled, he seemed genuinely amused at the notion. 'Why not announce it now?'

'Things could change in the near future. This blight is not yet over after all.' She paused, tracing the outline of her hand with her index finger. 'Arl Eamon has left for Redcliffe and tells me that our armies have almost fully gathered there. I will be heading there myself. Bring your companions and join us at Redcliffe as soon as you are able. You have united Ferelden warden, now we must face the blight.'

There could be no doubting her tone that she had given him a command. This was her first such directive to Duran, and in many ways it was a test. If he was disagreeable now it would not bode well for the future.

But he gave every indication of following her orders. He bowed his head and simply responded, 'As you command Your Majesty.'

She smiled and took her leave from him. There was much more to be discussed with him, not least of which was the role he was to play as her husband. But she decided that particular subject could await another day. It would not be wise to start any disagreements at present, at least until the blight was over that is. Let him think he would be King for the time being.

As she paced away she smiled to herself. She had regained the initiative in this little contest of theirs. She would not wear a crown upon her head as if it were a mere symbol. For the first time in her life she held the full reigns of power in her hands and she intended to use it. No man was going to stop her, especially her husband.


	4. The Dark Ritual

Bioware owns Dragon Age.

Chapter 4: The Dark Ritual

Duran spotted Alistair up ahead, pacing back and forth outside what he could only presume to be Riordan's chambers. Alistair looked agitated and perhaps even impatient. Duran didn't blame him. Things looked grim.

No sooner had they arrived in Redcliffe that they witnessed the darkspawn looting and pillaging their way through the village. It was a chaotic image. There were many corpses strewn about and the village that had only months before began its recovery suffered such damage as to render any progress made since then moot.

They had not killed everyone, for a group of escaping villagers had sought Duran's aid. The main army, according to the reports, was engaging a body of darkspawn remnants in the nearby hinterlands. A contingent of soldiers remained at Redcliffe castle to guard Arl Eamon and the Queen. Despite the heroic clash that was apparently taking place on the field of battle, numerous darkspawn had escaped past the lines and caused havoc in the village itself.

Duran and his companions had easily dispelled them. The village had suffered enough damage for a lifetime and its state greatly aggreived Alistair. He had shown more emotion than usual when they approached the castle and found a party of darkspawn engaged with the guard.

Although it was easy to fear the worst, Duran had immediately recognised the castle itself had not been breached. The guards had barricaded the doors and sought to eliminate the darkspawn within the courtyard. It was only natural that Duran and his party would assist. And assist they did, for what else does a Grey Warden exist for but for the destruction and defeat of any darkspawn who they might encounter.

But it wasn't those events, grievous as they were, that had shaken Alistair. Rather, it was the report from Riordan that each of them had been deceived which truly spooked Alistair.

Riordan had announced, in a most serious of tones, that the main darkspawn horde were in fact heading towards the capital! That the force gathered nearby was nothing but a diversion intended to distract them.

It was well that Anora had questioned his certainty, for Duran too had wondered such a thing. Riordan was adamant with a certainty only long years in service to the Wardens could provide. He had heard it from the enemy himself. The darkspawn were marching on Denerim and were at least two days ahead of them.

But to make things worse Riordan had also confirmed the unspoken fear amongst them all. The Archdemon had made its appearance and was riding at the head of this army!

Arl Eamon had reacted quickly to the initial report. A message had been sent to Denerim and would, it was hoped, arrive before the horde did. The city could then carry out the necessary preparations to withstand the attack.

Only it was likely this wouldn't be enough. The main army had marched to Redcliffe and consequently Denerim was vulnerable. The best hope for their salvation remained assembled in Redcliffe, at least two days behind the horde if Riordan's report was accurate.

Anora had not hesitated. She ordered the army to march out as soon as they were able. Unfortunately, as soon as they were able meant tomorrow morning.

The waiting was agonising. For those who had family back in Denerim the delay was particularly painful. Duran had spoken to a member of the royal guard whose wife and son were trapped in the siege. Although privately Duran thought it likely they were dead, he had assured the man there was still hope. Long years of experience leading troops in the deep roads had taught Duran that men with no hope were poor soldiers. Better to be firm with faith, however fleeting or minuscule, than brittle with doubt and sadness.

Duran had hoped to speak to Anora privately, but there had been no time. Riordan had insisted that he and Alistair see him as soon as possible. It was not a trivial request, given as it was from one of only three Grey Wardens in the country. It was also desirable to find out more about the Archdemon, and how they would defeat it.

Alistair saw him approach and flourished his arm towards the door. 'There you are.' He said. 'Lets go see what Riordan has to say.'

They entered the room to find Riordan awaiting them expectantly. It was possible he heard them approach, but Duran doubted it. Perhaps the ability to sense the taint was refined with age, to such a degree you could sense another Warden approach.

Regardless of his abilities his tone was deadly serious and he stared at them carefully. 'I need to talk to you about what is involved in destroying the Archdemon.'

He ran his fingers through his hair before continuing, 'You are both new to the Grey Wardens and may not be aware. I need to know how much you know.'

Alistair was puzzled, for he asked 'You mean there's more to it than simply chopping off its head?'

'So Duncan never told you?' Although it was phrased in a question Riordan already knew the answer. His demeanour betrayed a considerable reluctance, and it was only due to the importance of the matter that he persisted. 'I had assumed you knew. Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat darkspawn?'

Duran had often wondered such a thing. The curious ability to sense darkspawn was no doubt a factor but Duran had privately speculated on other, unknown, reasons. 'I assume it has something to do with the taint in us?'

'That is it exactly!' Pronounced Riordan. He began pacing about the room, dutiful but with some level of regret. 'The Archdemon can be slain - but if anyone other then a Grey Warden slays it the demon passes along to another creature and it is all but immortal. But if a Grey Warden was there the taint shall pass to them instead.'

'And... What happens to the Grey Warden?' Asked Duran who, in truth, worried what the answer would be.

'The darkspawn is an empty soulless vessel. A Grey Warden is not.'

Alistair, by now having guessed the outcome, speculated. 'Meaning the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon dies?'

Riordan did not shy away from it. 'Yes. Without the Archdemon, the blight ends. It is the only way.

Duran felt a level of despondency he had long forgotten since the first days of his exile. The Wardens paid a heavy price indeed for their gifts. He found himself, not for the first time, wishing he had never been recruited. But that was unfair. He was lucky to have been found by Duncan in the deep roads and he knew it.

'Is there no other way? Must a Grey Warden die?' He ventured, hoping for an answer he somehow knew would not be forthcoming.

'As far as we know the transfer of the Archdemon's essence is automatic. If one of us is not present when the killing blow is made it is all for nothing. There is no other way. For what it's worth I'm sorry.' He was sincere. It was a burden that all Wardens bore, and it was perhaps felt heaviest by the Senior Wardens, all of who had carried it most of their lives.

It was a sense of irony that this should come to pass. Duran had only recently maneuvered himself into a most profitable position as Ferelden's future King. This threatened to ruin his plans. He didn't like it. Not one little bit.

He had no intention of needlessly sacrificing himself. There were others who could and should make this sacrifice. Riordan for one, and even Alistair if it came down to it. If it eventuated that it were absolutely necessary, and all other options had been exhausted, then Duran would do his duty. He had, after all, been raised in the finest traditions of Orzammar and he would not shirk from his responsibilities. He was a Warden now and it was time to put regrets past him. But the bitterness of accepting such an outcome was still difficult to swallow. 'So it's up to one of us to kill this thing?' He asked.

'In blights past when the time came the eldest of the Grey Wardens would decide which among them would take the final blow. If possible the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail the deed falls on you. The blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that.'

Duran felt better. At least there was tacit admission that it was Riordan's place to take the final blow. Indeed, by his own admission Riordan had indicated his life was nearing its completion. It was therefore quite proper that he should make the sacrifice.

That, however, presupposed that Riordan still lived to make the blow. As Duran well knew, in battle all the best laid plans could come unhinged in a single stroke of misfortune. He was losing control of events and that felt unnatural. There was nothing he could do, yet his mind raged against it liked a caged madman.

Riordan interrupted his thoughts to dismiss the gathering. 'But enough. There will be much to do tomorrow and we will need enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms.'

Alistair appeared eager to escape, for he bustled by Riordan in haste pausing only to say goodbye. 'I will see you once the army is ready to march then. I guess this ends soon, one way or another.'

'That it does my friend, that it does.'

Duran had left the room shortly after. He was still recovering from the revelation. Although he knew he should probably talk to Alistair about what had transpired he did not seek him out. Nor did he try to find Anora to make last minute arrangements. He quite simply couldn't be bothered. He needed time to think, to work out what he was going to do.

It was late and Duran stumbled into his bedchambers, having every intention of simply collapsing before the fireplace and resting. It was therefore of considerable surprise that he found Morrigan there, waiting for him.

Her back was turned to him but she sensed his arrival and greeted him without turning. 'Do not be scared , it is only I.'

Morrigan was no stranger to Duran's bed. The two had, in times past, shared each others company through the night. But all that had ended with his impending marriage to Anora. Besides, there had been little emotional connection in the enterprise. There was mutual attraction and a level of respect between the two, but any feelings of love or affection simply were not there. At least that was the case with Duran. Morrigan had said the same too, but maybe she wasn't honest with her feelings. Perhaps she did want something more after all, for Duran could hardly account for her strange visit.

His tone was sarcastic, 'Don't you have your own bedroom?'

She turned to face him, her demeanour bearing no sarcasm or amusement. 'I decided that it was time we spoke. I have a plan you see. A way out, the loop in your hole. I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you that this does not need to be.'

Duran didn't know how to react. How did Morrigan know of this? Were the secrets of the Wardens that well known? Or had she been eavesdropping? Duran pondered this further when he remembered again what she said. There was a thread there, and he grasped it firmly and took hold. 'Does not need to be? What do you mean?'

'I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual, performed on the eve of battle in the dark of night.'

Duran couldn't control his impatience. His excitement was palpable. 'A way out? Tell me more.'

Morrigan continued, pacing about the room and coming to sit on the edge of his bed. 'What I propose is this. Lay with me, here tonight, and from our joining a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage the child can absorb that easence, and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed with no Grey Warden dieing in the process.'

Duran considered her request. He wasn't sure what to think about the concept of fathering a child for the sole purpose of absorbing a taint. But more important then that was why the offer was even being made. 'I see. And what's in it for you?'

Morrigan answered his question frankly and with no reserve. 'In return I conceive a child. One who will be born with the soul of an old God. After this is done, you allow me to walk away and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish.'

So the child would not die. That was interesting. But still there were risks. Although Duran did not doubt Morrigan's abilities as a Mage, he was sceptical that one lone Mage had discovered a solution to a problem unknown to the Wardens for centuries.

'How do you even know this will work?' He asked.

Morrigan remained seated. 'This is what my mother intended when she sent me with you. She was the one who first gave me the ritual and told me what it was I was meant to do. This does not surprise you does it? Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life, why she aided you? This is why. What is important is that I am offering this to you now. It will work and it will save your life.'

Duran considered her response. It was a way out for him. What harm could there be in having a backup plan. It was likely that Riordan would die anyway, but if he didn't there was no reason why Duran or Alistair should. There was only one further aspect he had questions on. 'Wait. I want to know more about this child.'

Morrigan did not seem eager, or happy, to broach this subject in particular detail. 'As you wish...'

'Will the child be evil? What will it become?'

Morrigan seemed to have rehearsed her response. Not surprising in the least, given it was a reasonable question to ask. Even for one as opportunistic as Duran, the idea of unleashing a new Archdemon was abhorrent. 'Allow me to say that I seek the essence of the old God that once was and not what the dark forces corrupted. Some things are worth preserving in this world. Make of that what you will.'

Duran cocked his head and folded his arms. 'What do you intend to do with this child?'

'I do not wish to tell you.'

Duran furrowed his brows. He was not used to Morrigan evading his questions. It was unsettling, and unacceptable. 'I insist. I need to know what you plan.'

She sighed, whether in resignation or frustration Duran could not tell. 'The child will represent freedom for an ancient power. A chance to be reborn without the taint. Is that not reason enough to do it?'

Duran's lack of reaction unnerved her, for she inhaled deeply before continuing. 'I will raise the child apart from the rest of society and teach it to respect that from which it came. That is that and you need not know nothing else.'

'I see.' Came the immediate response. Duran weighed up the options. It was not without its risks to be sure. There was no absolute guarantee that it would work, other then the assurances from the less then trustworthy witch Flemeth. Even if it did work though, the inherent danger posed by a potentially reborn Old God could be quite considerable.

On the other hand that was what happened now. The Archdemon was invariably reborn with the taint and each occurence signalled a new plunge into a blight. Every rebirth cycle was already terribly destructive for Thedas and an Old God entity not burdened and shackled to the darkspawn could hardly be worse than the status quo. Besides, it was more than likely that Riordan would strike the killing blow far from Morrigan anyway.

With those considerations having been weighed Duran seized the best option available to him. 'All right. I agree, I'll do it.'

Morrigan smiled, the triumph was clear in her voice. 'A wise decision.' She brushed the side of the bed in a provocative manner, 'Come to me then, we shall make this last night together something to remember.'

Duran smiled. He had not kept Morrigan in his confidence about his plans, and thus when it came about he was to marry Anora she was surprised. Certainly she was impressed he had pulled it off, for she was not ignorant of the realities of political alliances, but she was surprised none the less. Their last time together had been enjoyable as it always was, but far too routine. He would miss her company. One last chance to enjoy himself with her would be most desirable.

Duran approached her but remembered something crucial. A level of panic rose in his voice. 'Did anyone see you?'

Morrigan's seductive regard morphed into an amused smirk. 'Do not worry. There is no need to panic. Not one spied my coming here and I do not think your precious Queen would present to you in secret during the night.'

Duran was frightened by the thought. But she was right, there was no way that was going to happen!


	5. Before the Battle

Bioware owns Dragon Age

Author's Note: There has been much discussion regarding the geography of Thedas and, in particular, the size and scale of Ferelden. Please note that I have adapted the interpretation which equates Thedas with being roughly the size of Europe. The game itself is not always consistent with distances and time travelled.

In summary this means Redcliffe to Denerim is roughly the same distance as Manchester to London (300km) and would thus take a week's march assuming the army utilised the Imperial Highway, regenerated from circle healing and averaged 40km a day (the Roman Legion averaged 30km in moderate conditions).

Chapter 5: Before the Battle

Queen Anora nervously balanced on her toes. She could see the smoke and flames in the distance. Denerim was burning.

Despite her trim size, she cut an imposing figure garbed as she was in dragon breastplate. Her late father had ordered it made especially for her. Any daughter of his would not only have to look the part, but be the part.

Although she had learnt the basics of combat she knew she was no warrior. Her true weapon, such as it were, was her mind. Like any good combatant she honed her weapon and constantly sharpened it in preparation for its use.

She had done all she could. The success of their enterprise now relied entirely on the soldiers in the army and the men that lead them. Anora's part, she was sorry to say, was ancillary in comparison.

There was admirable quality in knowing when one had reached their limits. She had long known that part of being a good ruler was knowing when to call upon others whose talents were more appropriate to a particular problem. A good monarch knew when to exercise power, and when not to.

In this case she knew the gathered host was due to the efforts of her betrothed, Duran Aeducan. Her knowledge of history, considerable as it was, had long informed her of the particular talents of the Aeducan family. They were considered the shield of Orzammar by their people. The defenders of the last great city of the dwarves. It was in that context that she shouldn't have been surprised what he had achieved.

Of course she knew that lineage could only take you so far. Yes it was important, but there were countless examples of capable and noble lords fathering worthless sons. Talent was the ultimate deciding factor in such things. Indeed her own father, the son of a simple farmer, had risen to the grand heights of a Teyrn when King Maric had sought to reward and recognise his obvious talent.

It was in this context that Anora credited her betrothed with having united all the gathered armies under one banner. Such an extraordinary accomplishment was no small feat. It would have been difficult enough for the most skilled of men. She was certain it would have been impossible for an elf.

But perhaps it was also because he was dwarven that his ability to build a coalition was so pronounced. Anora thought on this further. Truly it must be so. Even though he was a Warden, which would count for a lot, perhaps it was his dwarven ancestry that sealed the deal. Wherever they went the dwarves were held in respect, or at worse ambivalence. Ferelden had always considered them to be stout and honorable folk if only a little strange. The chantry, no doubt, did not like their beliefs, but their inability to wield magic would count for a lot when gathering such a large army. As for the dalish... Well she didn't know nearly enough about them to understand. But she was sure they could hardly hate a dwarf more than they did a human.

It was an intriguing proposition and she would think on it further. But for the moment she could only be grateful that he had formed such an army to retake her kingdom. She had to respect him for that, even though she was a little jealous of his fame.

Not for the first time she railed against the injustice of the world. Had she been born a man none of this would ever have mattered. Her rule would be unchallenged and unquestioned. The blight would have been nothing but a minor abberation in her long struggle for consolidation over Ferelden's southern holdings.

But she was not a man, and thus to muse otherwise was a pointless exercise. She knew her position was still weak, after all she was not even Queen without the crucial support of Duran and the Wardens. In light of such circumstances she would need to bide her time. Play the game and acknowledge his role in all this, at least until the crisis was over. After that she wasn't sure what would happen. But it would hardly matter if Denerim was burnt to the ground around her.

She stared once again at the horizon. The smoke was a good sign. The darkspawn were known to have been at least two days ahead of the army on their long march. There was great fear that the city may have fallen during that head start. Although the warning had been sent it was unknown how thorough Denerim's preparations had been before the attack. The fact that it was still burning was probably a good sign. For, if it was not, the city would likely have already fallen.

The march itself had taken little over a week. They had made excellent time. Moving an army of dalish, dwarven and human soldiers was no simple task, not to mention the contingent of mages and golems as well. The armies had made excellent use of the imperial highway, at least the portions not in a state of disrepair, and the mages had proven most valuable in healing and regenerating the troops. So much so that the force had averaged roughly 40 kilometres a day. It was a truly remarkable feat and, thought Anora, quite unprecedented.

Anora overheard Arl Eamon conversing with Duran nearby. He was talking about the plan of attack. Anora had informed herself of their plans and, though she left the details to them, she was satisfied that the preparations were adequate.

The armies had gathered neatly into formation behind them and were waiting expectantly. Duran had already advised the troop commanders what was expected and each of them knew their duty. They only awaited the signal to attack and with a moment's notice would descend on the city to liberate it.

Anora turned to face Duran. Arl Eamon finished his report and Duran approached Anora respectfully.

Taking a deep bow Duran conveyed the news. 'Your Majesty, your army is ready to take your orders.'

Anora nodded. They had already arranged that Anora would address the troops before the battle. Although the situation in Denerim was critical, Duran was insistent that a simple speech would rouse the hearts of the army. He was also, to Anora's considerable surprise, adamant that the troops should hear their Queen speak. Anora would have insisted in any event, but with Duran perhaps anticipating her wishes he had proposed it himself. It was a welcome move. If he continued to act in such a way beyond the blight, that is if he acted in support of the crown and not himself, then perhaps their alliance would not be so bad after all.

Anora approached the makeshift platform, hastily constructed for such a purpose. The cohorts of troops were staring at her, watching her every move. These were her troops, her army. Not all of them owed her their allegiance, those of the dwarves and dalish certainly did not, but for now she was their leader and they would follow her into battle as was right and proper. Though she felt trepidation and nervousness tug at her heart, she forced herself to dismiss it. She had never addressed an army before. In times past it would be Cailan, or more than likely Loghain, who would do the talking. She did not want her soldiers to see her frightened.

She addressed them in her loudest voice, her confidence and conviction appeared apparent in the tone. 'Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde. Gaze upon them now, but fear them not!'

She paced back and forth while she spoke, pausing only to indicate Duran to her right. 'This man beside me is a dwarf of Orzammar and now risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens. He is proof that glory is within reach of us all. He has survived despite the odds and without him none of us would be here.'

She climbed down the steps and stood before the troops. Unsheathing her sword, which had seen little real combat but looked the part, she continued. 'Today we save Denerim, today we avenge the death of my husband and your king Cailan. But most of all we will show the Grey Wardens we remember and honor their sacrifice. For Ferelden and for the Grey Wardens.'

Her voice boomed down the ranks and was met with cheers and applause. She thrust her sword at Denerim and history would record she was the first soldier to charge that day. Duran was at her side, completing the image of a warrior queen and her lover charging into the battle. In truth the idea of Duran being her lover was the last thing on Anora's mind. But she was no fool. The legend would be born and with it her own reputation. Duran's own image and reputation cast a long shadow, and she was determined she would not be consumed by it.


End file.
